Come Back to Me
by geeklover89
Summary: Rewrite of the finale. Lots more drama and torture. M for later chapters hopefully .
1. Chapter 1

**After I saw the season finale I couldn't help but feel annoyed with how everything went down, especially the kidnapping of Stiles, the abandoning of Erica and Boyd, and the all-around shitty-ness of Derek's Alpha-ness.**

**So, here is a little fic on how I think it should have happened. With a little bit of episode 11 in there.**

**5 **_**constructive **_**reviews gets you a new chapter ;P**

Derek snarled angrily as the blood of his pack mates filled his nostrils. Their pain, their fear, it permeated the area like a thick fog. He growled low in his throat. He wanted to be mad at his pups, really he did, after all he had warned them. He had warned them of the dangers of leaving, of being alone without an Alpha to guide them, of following a random wolf's howl without knowing who or what it was. But they hadn't listened and that had been his fault.

If he had been a better Alpha he could have protected them better, could have convinced them to _stay_. If he had been a better Alpha he wouldn't have changed a pack of teenagers who had enough problems collectively to fill the Grand Canyon. Had he not been so overpowered with being the Alpha he would have turned people who knew he could handle it, who he _knew_ were ready. But he didn't. He didn't and they had panicked and now the fucking Argents had them.

And that was his fault.

But he would be damned if he wasn't going to fix it.

With a roar of rage he set out. Derek would not make the same mistake twice but he couldn't do it alone. He needed help and he was going to get it even if he had to drag Scott kicking and screaming into Argent's lair.

After all, it may have been his fault that his pups were not trained properly, but it had been Scott's girlfriend, it had been Allison fucking _Argent_, who had taken them.

And that was on Scott.

As he ran through the woods Derek could feel the presence of his uncle beside him.

Derek honestly didn't know how it happened, but somehow his wolf had taken his uncle on as part of his pack even though he wanted nothing to do with the man that had murdered his own niece in cold blood. He supposed there was a residual connection there somewhere that his wolf remembered. At the moment though he really didn't care, it simply meant more help in finding his missing pack mates.

He glanced to the side to look at the man he had once respected. Something was different about him. Not that he was even close to the Peter he used to know, but this was different. When Peter had been the Alpha he had been two steps away from being a full fledged wolf. Now that the Alpha was out of his uncle he seemed more like the man that he had been when Derek was growing up. Just with more jagged edges.

Peter's now amber eyes connected with his and he nodded.

Derek's own blood red ones flashed before turning forward again.

They were almost at the main road now.

All of a sudden screams filled the night.

Derek and Peter snarled simultaneously, both instinctively knowing where the fear filled sounds were coming from.

Putting on an extra burst of speed Derek speed toward the school.

The lights came back on just as he skidded to a stop behind the bleachers. More screams sounded as Jackson's body was illuminated in the light. The acrid sent of blood filled the air along with the unmistakable biting sent of panic as the players on the field rushed to circle their fallen co-captain. Derek and his uncle stayed by the bleachers just out of sight. The Alpha snarled a little when he spotted Issac standing with Scott. His wolf bristled at the sight of his Omega so comfortable with another Alpha, and one that was working with Gerard at that, but he didn't make a move.

It was yet another testament to how much of a failure he was.

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"_Look at his hands."_ Scott's words floated from the field.

"_He did it to himself?"_ Issac asked incredulously.

Derek raised an eyebrow flashing his uncle a look of confusion. Peter looked just as surprised as his nephew. Derek turned his eyes back to the field just as the Sheriff rushed up. For a moment he surveyed the scene with the eyes of an officer. Suddenly he paused. The hand on Derek's shoulder squeezed again; only this time it wasn't in comfort. Derek felt his heart clench.

His eyes began darting around the field in a desperate attempt to find who he instinctively knew he wouldn't. He barely heard the Sheriff's question of where his son was.

Anger rose up inside of him like a tidal wave. Peter let out a feral growl next to him. From the field Issac let out a whine of pain so sharp that a few of the players closest to him turned to look at him. Scott had begun to shake. Turning slowly the younger Alpha's eyes locked on Derek's.

They didn't need words.

* * *

Stiles struggled fruitlessly against the ropes on his writs but they held fast. He tried to call for help but that was even more useless considering he had to get his voice around the balled up rag that had been shoved in his mouth as well as the duct tape over his lips. He still tried though. The hands around his arms tightened to keep him still as their owners dragged him down the hallway of the Argent's house toward a door that he instinctively knew led to the basement.

Struggling harder Stiles whipped his body side to side in an attempt to break out of his captors' grip and dug his heels into the carpeted floor.

Both men just growled angrily, practically lifting him off the floor as they pulled him on.

"MMMMPH! MMMMPH MMMMMM!" Stiles shouted through the gag hoping that at least Chris would hear him. If there was any hunter out there that could be considered "good" then Chris was it. He knew that the hunter would never actively put the human in danger, it went against his code.

The hunter gripping his right arm jerked him violently, "Shut the fuck up you little shit and quite struggling. I would like to be rid of you sometime today so just be a good boy and _come on_." He snarled the last part out practically ripping Stiles arm off with a final jerk. They were right in front of the door now.

Stiles leveled a glare at the man. If he could speak he would have shouted "Are you kidding me? Have you _seen_ horror movies? The basement is where people go to _die_! There is no way in hell I'm going willingly down there!" He settled instead for giving the man a sharp kick to the shin. The hunter (who he had taken to calling Righty) swore angrily, wrenched open the door, and made to throw him down the stairs only to be thwarted by Lefty (his left arm's captor).

"Gerard wants him alive." His said simply.

Righty snarled again but resumed his position of manhandling the teen into what was soon to be his tomb.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud screeching sound filled the locker room, followed soon by a clang of metal hitting tile as Scott ripped the door to Stiles' locker open and threw it haphazardly to the floor. Reaching in he pulled out the clothes Stiles had been wearing before the game, whining needily as his missing friend's sent wafted out of the confined container. Without any real thought to what he was doing Scott brought the clothes up to his face and took a deep breath. Spice and earth filled his nose and he whined again.

When Scott had first connected the sent to his friend he had been confused by it. For some reason it didn't seem to fit with the hyperactive teen. Stiles was bubbly and light whereas the sent, to Scott, seemed heavy and nothing like how his friend should be. But over time he had gotten over that. He had come to accept that this was a sent that was totally and uniquely Stiles', a sent that he had memorized months ago, and sent that he found comfort in always being there.

Only now it wasn't.

And that hurt far more than he ever thought possible.

He took another breath. Suddenly he scrunched his face in confusion

There was something different about the sent. Like something was missing. Something that should have been there.

"Scott?" Issac asked quietly.

The young Alpha didn't seem to hear him as he fingered the material, turning it over and over in his hands, trying to find what was missing. "I wonder when he stopped taking it?" he mumbled to himself.

"Three months ago."

Scott's head snapped up. Derek stood by the door eyes locking on his before flicking down to the pile of clothes in Scott's hands. Behind him stood Peter. Scott's eyes widened at the sight of the once dead Alpha. His eyes darted back and forth between Derek and his uncle before the words caught up to him.

"Three mon—wait what? How do you know that? For that matter, what the hell are you even doing here? Or, more importantly, what is _he_," he gestured wildly at Peter, "doing alive?"

Derek took a step forward his eyes flashing, "None of those things are really important right now." He took another step forward, "What _is_ important is finding Stiles."

"And serving Gerard's head up on a plate." Peter added taking a slight step forward, "I may have been dead for the last few months, but the last time I checked hunters generally left humans alone. I guess Gerard just decided that this one was too valuable. I'm just worried about…" he stopped suddenly.

The remaining wolves bristled, "Wo-worried about what?" Issac asked fearfully, "They wouldn't really hurt Stiles would they?" his eyes flickered frantically around the room, trying to find someone who would agree with him. No one met his eye.

"He threatened my mom." Scott said softly fingering Stiles clothes again.

"And I'm sure my nephew has mentioned his ex-girlfriend." Peter added bitterly smirking internally as Derek flinched.

Issac swallowed thickly, "So….what?"

Peter stepped forward, hands shoved into his pockets so none of the others could see his fists, though he was sure if they weren't so worried about the missing teen they would smell the blood, "I've been keeping my eyes on them. They'll probably try to persuade him first, tell him that we're dangerous monsters that don't deserve to live. They'll remind him of all the times we put him in danger or threatened him or forced him into our world against his will, and if that doesn't work then they will go back to their old standby."

_Torture_.

It didn't need to be said.

"And if that doesn't work?" Peter looked at Scott skeptically. The young Alpha leveled a glare at him, "You don't know him."

Derek met Issac's eye and they both shared a knowing smirk.

Peter cleared his throat, "Yes well, I hope for his sake it does."

The smirk dropped of Derek's face and his eyes snapped to his uncle's, "Peter," he growled eyes flashing, "what do you know?"

There was no way in hell Peter would condone a member of the pack turning on their pack. Not unless there was a very good reason.

For the first time since he walked in the door the former Alpha dropped his eyes to the floor. Swiping his tongue across his lips he began speaking, "I recently learned that Gerard hired a man by the name of Andrew Humus," His voice was controlled, but his body shook with a rage so palpable that the other three were forced to take a step back, "he is a convict recently released from the Washing State Penitentiary after serving five years for…." By now he was half shifted causing the last few words to become garbled.

They understood it anyway.

Issac immediately snatched the missing boy's clothes out of Scott's hands.

They had to find Stiles. Now.

* * *

Righty and Lefty took a great deal of pleasure in dragging their captive over to an exposed pole sticking out of the floor in the center of the Argent's basement. Twisting him around so that his back was to the pole Righty held him still while Lefty slipped away for a second before returning with more rope. He then proceeded to tie Stiles' already bound hands to the pole. The rope was then wrapped around his waist and pulled tight so that his back was flush against the pole. Stiles knew by then that it was pointless to struggle anymore but that didn't stop him from jerking viciously at his bonds in the hopes of loosening them. All he managed to do was rub his writs raw and bruise his stomach.

It also gave Righty and Lefty something to laugh about.

"Give it up already kid." Righty said snidely once he stopped clutching the stitch in his side, "There is no way you are getting out of those ropes. Which is fine by me." He shrugged his shoulders, "Means I'll never have to see your face again."

Lefty clucked his tongue, "You have absolutely no taste John." Taking Stiles' chin in between his thumb and forefinger he forced the teen to look at him. Stiles tried to jerk out of his grasp. The grip tightened. "Kid's got some fire in him, those are always the best kind. Never cared much for the pleading or the sobbing. Makes them more fun to break if they've got something to lose." Keeping firm hold of the chin in his hand Lefty began turning the younger boy's head back and forth, eyeing it as though it were a piece of meat, "Not bad looking either. In fact," he turned Stiles forward again, "if the old man didn't need him so much I wouldn't mind being the one to make him scream."

Honey brown eyes widened in fear.

"Ya well, unfortunately for you, and as you so aptly put it before, Gerard does in fact want the boy alive and in one piece so you will just have to wait to play with your new toy until he is done." Righty (who was now apparently John) said stiffly as he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

Lefty moaned mournfully.

John stopped at the foot of the stairs, "Come on Drew," he snapped over his shoulder, "The old man is already pissed at us for losing the wolves do you really want to make him angrier?"

Drew snarled but dropped his hand form Stiles' face. Grumbling, he made his way to John's side, "It wasn't _my_ fault they got away. You were the one who was supposed to make sure they were secure."

"Don't you try to blame this on me you perverted shit _you_ were the one who was supposed to make sure the current was _on_."

"It was on you fucker! And I bet anything you overloaded the circuit again with that goddamn guitar of yours."

They continued to argue all the way up the stairs. Stiles barely heard them. His mind was too busy trying to process what he had just heard. Wolves, they had had wolves in this hell whole. It must have been just recently otherwise he would have heard about it. Derek was a lot of things –including a shitty Alpha, a creeper, and a basket case—but one thing he was not was heartless. Sure the thing was buried under a lot of pain and scar tissue, but it was still there.

If any of his pack were in trouble then Derek would be the first to break down the door.

But the hunters hadn't mentioned Derek.

They had just said that they had escaped.

And from the sound of it, it had been an inside job. Which meant that either Allison or Chris was on their side, on _his_ side. Hopefully both. Though, judging by the way Allison had been behaving recently Stiles couldn't be sure whether the thought of her coming back to their side comforted him or pissed him off.

Right now he was leaning toward the latter.

The room around him was suddenly plunged into darkness. A door slammed shut and the sickening sound of it locking echoed off the walls of the tiny room.

Stiles swallowed thickly. If wolves from Derek's pack had really escaped from the Argents with the _help_ of an Argent then Gerard didn't have much time till not only the wolf pack but the Beacon Hills Police Department came raining down on his head. Whatever he wanted he would have to get before they arrived.

And Stiles was the only one left who could give it to him.

* * *

Chris drove through the forest trying to ignore the sounds coming out of the trunk of his car. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to where Boyd and Erica were comforting each other in the backseat. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

All his life he had been taught that werewolves were the enemy, that they were nothing more than creatures that killed and turned as they pleased. Inhuman monsters that cared only for the hunt and for nothing else.

But tonight he had been proven wrong.

Tonight he had seen the truth.

Tonight he had seen two sixteen year old wolves, two _children,_ tortured for want they were. Tortured for an Alpha whose only crimes were stopping his rampaging uncle and turning them too soon. Derek could have sought revenge if he had wanted too, could have joined his uncle in a slaughter. But he didn't. Instead, he had been stripped of his family by the one he loved, seen the death of his uncle by his own hand, and been forced into a role that should not have been his in the first place.

Chris was barely handling the loss of his wife. He could only imagine what Derek had and was feeling.

He sighed.

When he had found out that Derek was making a pack he had assumed that it only because he wanted to be stronger. Now he wasn't so sure.

Erica sniffed, "Th-th-thank you. For helping us."

Flicking his eyes to the mirror again. Erica was tucked into Boyd's side, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

He swallowed again.

He had been so, so wrong.

Nodding once he flicked his eyes back to the road, reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and reached back over the seat. "We'll be reaching the old warehouse soon. You had better call Derek and let him know."

Tentatively, Boyed reached out snatching the phone out of the hunter's hand. Then he turned his eyes back to the road.

There was a few moments of silence before Erica spoke again, "Do you think he will forgive us?"

Boyd hummed comfortingly, "He is still our Alpha. He was right and we know that now. We will just have to prove to him that we understand that know. Derek has been more than giving to us, it is time we return the favor."

"Yeah."

"It will be alright Erica."

"I wish Batman was here, he always knew what to do."

"I do to."

Chris rose an eyebrow in confusion. Shrugging his shoulders he continued to drive.


	3. Chapter 3

Lydia's didn't bother to hide the tears streaming down her face as she knelt by Jackson's body.

They flowed freely down her face, and for once she didn't care. She didn't care about her image or how people would be talking about it the next day, not that they didn't talk about her behind her back already, she didn't even care about the fact that her designer clothes were getting dirty. All she cared about was the fact that the person she loved lay before her in a pool of his own blood, not breathing. And nobody was helping. Mrs. McCall had given up on artificial respiration almost two minutes ago. Now they all just seemed to be waiting for an ambulance to come and take Jackson away. Logically Lydia knew what that meant, but it couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. Jackson wouldn't just kill himself like that, she had seen the blood on his hands so she knew what he had done but it just didn't make sense. Jackson Whittemore was arrogant and cocky and full of himself; always wanting to be more, always wanting to prove himself. He couldn't do that if he was dead. No, he wouldn't have done this.

He wouldn't have done that to her.

Unless….

She choked.

"Jackson," she cried softly, "Jackson please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't good enough. I'm sorry I kept pushing you to be better….I'm sorry I pushed you to this." Her voice cracked as a fresh torrent of tears slid down her face, "Just….please, please come back to me. Please."

Gripping his jersey tightly in her hands Lydia lay her head down on his chest so that her ear was directly over his heart. Later on she would wonder what compelled her to such a public action since, being one who liked to hold up her image, she often did her grieving in private, but she would be forever thankful that whatever it was happened. For as soon as she put her head down she felt something spark between them immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat.

Her head shot up again, "Jackson?"

It was barely visible even to her, but the slight twitching of Jackson's lips into a shushing sign was unmistakable.

Lydia had absolutely no idea what was going on or why the blonde haired boy wouldn't want people to know that he was alive. Her heart clenched at the thought and she almost disregarded his request in favor of wrapping her arms around him and kissing the daylights out of him, but she didn't. She knew that something much bigger was going on and that if she wanted to find out she would have to do what he wanted. So she carefully lay her head back down on his chest.

Turning her face up a little so her mouth was under his chin she whispered, "Jackson, what is going on?"

Jackson's arm twitched as though it wanted to come up and stroke her hair. It stayed where it was. "I promise I'll explain everything but for right now you have to trust me okay?"

Lydia swallowed at the ominous sound of her boyfriend's voice before nodding.

"I need you to call Scott and tell him to meet me at the hospital, he'll know where to go, and tell him to bring the others as well."

Being as smart as she was Lydia was overcome by curiosity. Why was Jackson going to pretend he was dead if he wanted Scott to meet him? For that matter, why did Jackson try to kill himself in the first place? Who were these 'others' that Scott knew that Jackson was referring to? Did it have anything to do with the werewolves? (Ya she knew about them.) If so, why did Jackson of all people need to see them? She scratched that last question off her list, she knew exactly why the ego inflated jock would go see a pack of wolves. Taking a much needed breath Lydia forced herself to calm down.

"What should I tell them?"

"That if they want to find Stilinski alive they had better come."

Lydia stiffened, her happiness at knowing Jackson, _her_ Jackson, was still alive was over shadowed by a gut wrenching fear toward the boy she had just begun to make friends with. After everything that had happened to her already this year she had honestly thought it was impossible to get anymore scared.

She was wrong.

* * *

Three years ago, after Andrea had died, when his son began having panic attacks Sheriff Stilinski often wondered if maybe Stiles had been over exaggerating his symptoms to get attention.

It was a stupid thought now though but back then it had been different. After his wife had died, after he had been forced to sit there and watch her die a slow, painful death, the Sheriff had pulled away from life completely. So caught up in his misery that he couldn't even get out of bed in the morning, and spending every night drowning his sadness in the bottom of a bottle, he was about two steps away from following his wife to the grave. He could still remember the day it almost happened. That was when Stiles had had his first attack.

The Sheriff could still feel the horrible churning of guilt in his stomach. Could still see his son's face, white as a sheet, staring at him as he held the gun to his own head. And he could still remember that heart clenching sound of that first gasp of air as Stiles' throat closed up, sounding for all the world like the young boy had decided he wanted to know what it was like to breathe through a straw. He had watched as his thirteen year old son had crumpled to his knees, wrapped his arms around his abnormally thin body (that the Sheriff hadn't even noticed until that moment), and began to sob uncontrollably. Not being able to breathe very well to begin with it wasn't that long until Stiles began to turn blue.

Being back at the hospital in less than two months, this time with his gasping and wheezing son, had been the kick in the ass he needed to pull himself out of the darkness. Not all the way mind you, he would need his son's help for that, but enough to be able to put away the alcohol.

At least for a while.

It had not been the last time Stiles had had an attack and with each consecutive one the Sheriff seemed to forget that he had been the one that started it. He had even yelled at Stiles on the second anniversary of his mother's death. Had told him that if he wanted attention then he could look somewhere else for it. In essence, he had called his own son a liar. And _he_ had been the one to push his last living relative away.

Now he would give anything to take that back.

Would give anything in the world if he could just go back in time and, instead of blaming him, scope him up in his arms and tell him again and again that it was okay. He wanted to tell Stiles that no matter what anybody said his mother's death wasn't his fault, that he knew what people said behind their backs and that they were wrong.

He wanted to tell Stiles that he loved him.

Now he was gone. Vanished without a trace under the eyes of not only the entire Beacon Hill lacrosse team, but his own father's as well.

And for the first time in his life the Sheriff understood what his son had been going through these last three years.

His throat felt tight as he stumbled into the schools locker room. His heart pounded harshly in his ears and his body shook so badly he was almost positive it would cause his bones to dislodge and he would fall apart right there. He couldn't let himself fall apart though. Now until his found his son. Not until is baby boy was back safely in his arms.

It was the only thing that kept him from falling fully into the panic.

He wondered if Stiles had ever even had that.

Forcing a deep breath of air into his lungs he lent against the wall of the locker room and waited until he was calmer.

"Lydia, what are you doing here?"

Scott's voice drifted from around the corner.

"Yes, shouldn't you be with your dead, murdering boyfriend?"

"Issac!"

The Sheriff's attention was immediately peaked, his panic attack rapidly moving to the back of his mind as the cop part of his mind zeroed in on the word 'murder'.

A deep growl sounded, "What? It's true."

"You know perfectly well that he was being controlled."

"That doesn't change the fact that he did it."

Another growl sounded, this one louder and more authorities, "Enough both of you!" The Sheriff stiffened as he heard Derek's voice. What the hell was _he_ doing there? "We kind of have more important things to worry about then a dead Kanima."

"He's not dead." A hard feminine voice, who the Sheriff could only assume was Lydia, cut through the air.

There was a moment of stunned silence and the Sheriff took the opportunity to peak around the corner.

There in the middle of the locker room stood Scott, Lydia, Derek Hale, Issac Lahey, and one more person that the Sheriff didn't recognize. He seemed oddly familiar though. He was the one who snapped out of his stupor first.

"What do you mean he's not dead?"

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder in a move that was obviously designed to hide her discomfort, "I mean, he was dead, but then I called him and he just sort of woke up."

"What do you mean you called him?" the unknown man took a step forward, eyes fixated on her.

She shifted again, this time her fingers shifted twisting together, "He was just lying there and I…" she licked her lips suddenly looking embarrassed, "I told him to come back to me."

"And that is when he woke up?" the man questioned. Lydia looked down at the floor and nodded.

Derek stepped forward this time, "Peter," the Sheriff jerked in surprise. Peter? Peter Hale? As in Derek's uncle who was burned in the fire and was now in the hospital burned and catatonic Peter Hale? What the hell? He didn't have time to ponder this as Derek continued talking, "what does this mean?"

Peter let out a deep sigh. An invisible weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders, "It means we don't have to deal with the Kanima anymore."

* * *

Boyd held the phone slightly turned away from his ear so that Erica could listen as it rang. He could feel the girl shivering next to him as it rang again. Boyd nudged her shoulder comfortingly. She sent him a slight smile.

The ringing stopped.

"Chris, I swear to god if I find out you are behind this I will take you so far into the woods that even the birds won't be able to hear you scream."

Erica let out a chocked sob of a laugh and Boyd snorted, "Well that's a new one."

There was a moment of silence before a high pitched shout that was defiantly not Derek was sent down the line. In an instant Issac was on the line, "Boyd, Erica are you guys okay? What the heck is going on? I thought you guys were leaving town."

A sharp growl sounded and then Derek was back, "Where are you guys right now?"

It was Chris who answered, "We just turned off Santamonica*. We're heading for the old flour mill if you want to meet us there."

"Chris!? What the hell are you doing with _him_?"

"Derek," Erica timidly spoke up, "Chris helped us escape."

There was silence again though Boyd and Erica could hear slight muttering on the other end. Derek must have covered the mouth piece. Boyd let his eyes wander to the window while his Alpha spoke with whoever was on the other end. Chris seemed to notice his gaze.

"We're almost there; it's only about twenty more minutes."

Boyd nodded at the window.

There was a slight muffled sound from the phone and then Derek was back, "Once you get to the mill don't go anywhere. We're coming to get you."

Boyd's heart jumped. Derek was coming to get them? Did that mean he forgiven them for running away from him? Or did he just want to see them in order to kill them for leaving? Boyd shook his head. No, that wasn't right. Derek wasn't like that. The Alpha was by no means _not_ a killer, but he only did that when he was hunting or to protect his pack. Neither Erica nor Boyd were a threat to him and there was still too much going on with the Kanima to risk coming all the way out here to kill Chris. If only he could be sure of Derek's intentions….

Erica seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him so she spoke up, "Derek."

"What is it Erica?" both Betas cringed at the shortness of Derek's tone.

The blonde haired girl bit her lip nerviously.

"Erica?"

"I'm sorry."

Boyd tensed slightly. In the front seat he could see that Chris was tense as well as they waited for Derek's response.

There was a very tired sounding sigh, "It's okay Erica. I am sorry to you two also. We are going to have a lot to talk about when this is all over, until then tell Chris I'm putting you in his hands for now, I promise I'll be there soon."

And with that Derek was gone.

The dial tone sounded obnoxiously loud as Boyd handed the phone back to Chris.

Derek forgave them. Just like that, the Alpha to whom they owed this life and to whom they betrayed forgave them. From the reflection on the window Boyd could see Chris's eyes flicking back and forth to the rear view mirror. He looked oddly relieved. Though that might just have been from the fact that he would not have to hold on to either of the Beta's anymore, but somehow Boyd didn't believe that.

Something suddenly slammed into Boyd's right side and all at once he found he had a lap full of Erica. Her laughter rang through the car like a set of bells in the wind and for the first time that night Boyd smiled.

Maybe everything would be alright after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles had no idea how long he was down in the Argent's basement, but he was now well and truly uncomfortable. His shoulders had finally gotten past the intense pain of being forced behind his back for so long and had moved on to the numb stage; though whether that was a good thing or a bad thing he was not really sure (he was leaning toward the not so good). His knees were also starting to hurt. And his lower back. And really, just about everything had at least a dull ache. Not to mention that fact that he stank like dried sweat. Really, was it too much to ask to be kidnapped when he was walking to school or at the mall and _not_ after he had just played a game of lacrosse 'and won, thanks for ruing that'? At least then he would have at least felt clean.

Oh, and his mouth was dry.

Perfect.

The pitch black darkness was suddenly shattered when a light flicked on over the bound boy's head. It was nearly blinding. Stiles blinked several times before he could even make out shapes.

"Hello Stiles," Stiles felt his insides turn to ice, "so nice to see you again. I hope your stay has been comfortable."

Stiles' eyes narrowed. He growled behind his gag. Gerard was nonplused. Instead, he looked thoughtfully at his captive, "I have to say Stiles, I didn't think it would be quite so easy to get to you, but I suppose that's what happens when you are nothing more than the pack toy." He said this as though he were talking about a sudden rainstorm cropping up on a cloudless day. Stiles stiffened.

Gerard noticed and smiled rather sadistically, "Oh, you didn't know? Well, I guess I'm not surprised, I mean, you are useful to them after all why not let you think that you are part of the pack if it gets them what they want." The psychotic old hunter paced leisurely back and forth in front of his captive. Stiles kept an eye on him. Gerard began talking again.

"Now doesn't that just make you angry? I mean, after all the work you've done for them, after all the time and effort you gave them and they don't even bother to protect you." Gerard shook his head sadly looking, for the first time, like a grizzled old grandfather who found out his son just died.

It didn't last long.

Suddenly he was right in Stiles' face.

"Doesn't that piss you off boy? Doesn't that make you want to make them pay? Doesn't that make you want to kill them? ANSWER ME!" With that, Gerard tore the tape off of Stiles' mouth, causing the boy to scream in pain, and ripped the cloth out of his mouth. Stiles coughed violently for a few seconds before the old man had him by the chin and was forcing him eye to eye, "Tell me Stiles, why should you help them now? Huh? Tell me that. Why should you help a pack that would so willingly abandon you to try and save a killer?"

Stiles swallowed a few times before he could answer, "Jackson isn't a killer, you are."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the room.

Stiles' head snapped to the side and his teeth sunk into his cheek. He spat the blood out. Gerard wrenched his head back.

"I wouldn't be so quick with the insults boy," he hissed, "do not forget that you are in my power now. Now you will tell me what I want to know."

Stiles knew that no matter what he said at this point he would end up getting hurt, but giving up the pack he had come to see as a second family was not an option, so he went back to his old stand-by; sarcasm, "Can't really do that since you haven't asked me what exactly you want to know." Gerard punched him again.

Then again.

And again.

"I bet you think you're funny, don't you Stiles? Well guess what? I don't." Gerard suddenly walked out of sight. Stiles, who had been left briefly stunned by the blows to his face, blinked hazily at the ground. Well, he had certainly been right about the crazy old hunter not wanting to waste any time. A low humming filled the air behind him.

Suddenly there were two sharp crack sounds.

Stiles stiffened as the eldest Argent came back into view holding what looked like a cattle prod. Gerard took the time to examine it, acting for all the world as though he wasn't about to use it on an innocent boy he had kidnapped and tied up in the basement of his son's house. "You know Stiles," he said almost conversationally now that he had calmed down slightly, "it has been so long since I've had to use this on a human." He shrugged nonchalantly as he waved the prod in Stiles' face, "I sometimes forget just how frail we are as a species, and werewolves can endure so much more pain then we."

"Ya, well," Stiles tried to keep his voice from shaking as he pushed himself farther into the pole in an effort to get away from the prod, "I guess that's what happens when you have a code to not harm humans."

Gerard looked thoughtful, "Huh. You know I think you're right about that." He shrugged, "Oh well."

And he jammed the prod into Stiles' shoulder.

"Now's the perfect time to re-learn."

* * *

Derek watched his uncle's eyes drift off into space they was they always used to when he was thinking about something important. He was just about to ask what his uncle meant by "we don't have to deal with the Kanima anymore" when Lydia spoke up.

"Look, I don't know what is going on here, but it is going to have to wait. Jackson wants all of you to meet him at the hospital; he said that Stiles' life depends on it." Her voice trailed off at the last bit and she swallowed visibly as four sets of glowing eyes snapped toward her face. She soldiered on though, "I don't know about you, but I think that this is more important than a Kanima, whatever that is, don't you?"

Peter's eyes came back into focus and he straightened up, "Yes, you are right." He turned to Derek, "We need to get Stiles back at all costs."

Derek nodded solemnly, but also looking troubled, "He is our top priority, but we still have Erica and Boyd to worry about, I doubt the Argents' will pass up an opportunity to use them against us, especially now that they have Stiles."

"What?" Issac's head snapped up, blue eyes wide with fear, "I thought you said they left."

The youngest Hale let out a sigh, "They were captured as they were trying to leave," He leveled a glare at Scott, "by Allison and Chris."

Scott immediately stiffened and made to defend his girlfriend only to be cut off be a growl form Peter, "The Argents deserve no sympathy Scott!" The younger wolf shrunk back a little under the elder's wrath, "If anything should have changed your mind about them it should be this."

"But she…"

"Did she or did she not assist in the kidnapping of three people, one of which is your supposed best friend?"

"She is just upset that she lost her mother…she"

"And that makes it okay!?"

Scott dropped his head in shame.

Peter seemed satisfied with this and allowed himself to calm down, but a satisfied smirk had settled over his features. Derek rolled his eyes at his uncle's antics, but he didn't refute what he said. Instead he turned to toward Lydia.

"Is that all Jackson said?"

The red head jumped slightly at being addressed by the once accused murderer. It was probably the first time that _the_ Lydia Martin had been at a loss for words. All she could do was nod. Derek made a noise in his throat, "Okay, Scott, Peter, and Issac will go to the Argent's house and see if there is a way in, if Boyd and Erica are anywhere it is there. Lydia, myself, and the Sheriff will head to the hospital to see what is going on with Jackson. While it is more than likely possible that Stiles is being held in the same place as the pups, we can't make that assumption and risk his life in the off chance that we are wrong."

"Wait, we are telling the Sheriff?" Scott's face paled considerably at the thought of not only telling the Sheriff that they possibly knew something about his son being kidnapped, but also about werewolves and just how deep the spastic teen was in it.

The three wolves in the room looked at the teen. Derek had to force himself not to face palm, Peter looked disbelievingly, and Issac snorted.

Lydia looked confused, "What's wrong?"

Issac rolled his eyes, but instead of answering he reached around the corner and pulled. Only to have Sheriff Stilinski himself stumble around the corner.

If possible, Scott's eyes got ten times paler.

"Honestly Scott," Issac said distastefully, "and you call yourself a werewolf. I smelled him nearly 20 minutes ago."

If he had not been standing by the lockers, Derek was sure Scott would've fallen over in a dead faint. As it was, he look like he was about two seconds from passing out. Luckily the Sheriff seemed to notice as well for he put up his hands in mock surrender and took a small step forward. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, and I don't know what it has to do with what's been happening around town, but right now I don't care. My son is missing. My _only_ son is missing." He made sure to stretch out the word 'only', looking each and every one of them in the eyes as he did so, "Stiles is the only thing that matters to me right now. I'm willing to look past everything I just heard and saw if it means getting my boy back alive."

Here he looked to Derek, somehow instinctively knowing that the younger of the two Hales was in charge. Derek made sure to hold the Sheriff's eyes for a few long seconds before slowly nodding. The wolf knew that once this was over he would have to tell Sheriff everything, but it was more than a fair price if it meant he could see Stiles's smiling face once again.

* * *

Chris pulled the SUV into the old abandoned flour mill and just sat there for a few minutes while he regained his thoughts. He could just drop Boyd and Eric off here. He could drop them off here, take his daughter and run. Nobody would miss them. And it wasn't like there was anything for them here anyway. Victoria was dead. Gerard had tried to corrupt Allison. And he was too weak to stop any of it. He had even been forced to kidnap his own daughter in order to protect her. Yeah, leaving was sounding like the perfect option.

A knocking on the window startled Chris out of his thoughts.

Whipping his head around to face the window his eyes met the sheepish face of Erica. He rolled it down a little.

Erica played with her fingers and looked down at her shoes, "Sorry," she mumbled, "I just wanted to see if you were going to come inside."

Chris studied her for a minute. She no longer looked like the bad ass werewolf he had known when she first turned, strutting around like she owned the world. She now looked like nothing more than a scared little child. Or a puppy. Chris let out a breath of a laugh; it looked like Stiles was right again. If they all made it out of this in one piece he would have to apologize to the boy for ever doubting him.

Shaking his head of his thoughts once more Chris climbed out of the car and made his way toward the truck only to find that it was open and his package was missing. For a moment he panicked. Then Erica laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"Boyd already took her inside."

Chris let out a sigh of relief before tensing his shoulders again are looking at the mill. He knew what he would have to face when he walked in there, but, for the life of him, he wasn't sure if he was ready.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles had screamed himself horse by the time Gerard was finished with him.

But he hadn't cracked.

He hadn't told the crazy bastard anything. And it had pissed Gerard off something fierce.

After the cattle prod came the knives, after the knives came this whips, and after the whips came the drugs.

Yet he still hadn't cracked.

In fact, he hadn't said anything. It was probably the only time in the history of his life that he had managed to keep his mouth shut. Oh the irony. Get yelled at and threatened when he can't be quiet, get beaten and tortured when he is. The world really did hate him.

Gerard had left a while ago, but for the life of him Stiles couldn't tell how long ago that was. He didn't even know how long he had been in this basement for. All he knew was pain.

Sheer, unadulterated, unabashed _pain._ Everything burned. Everything ached. Even the fact that he was higher than a kite did not help to harsh throbbing of literally every muscle in his body.

But he hadn't cracked.

Letting his mind wander was about the only thing that had brought he some semblance of comfort over the hours of suffering he had just endured, but, in a way, it had also been worse.

The crackling of the cattle prod had reminded him of when his mother was still alive. Whenever a particularly bad thunderstorm came she would always take him out onto the porch where they would sit and watch the lightning dance across the sky and make up stories to explain where the lightning came from. The glint of the knife in the light reminded Stiles of the time his father used to tease their old cat Brady. Whenever Stiles was particularly bored, the Sheriff would pull out a DVD or something, line it up from the light streaming into the windows, and then tilt it just right so the little light that bounced off of the reflective surface bounced teasingly in front of the cat's face. Brady would go wild trying to catch it, and both Stilinski men would practically split their sides laughing.

Between beatings from the whip Stiles thought about his new found love of leather jackets. They were soft and warm and smelled of Old Spice and rain. He thought about the firm muscles they hid within their sleeves. Arms that held him tight at night and coaxed him to sleep. Fingers that caressed his skin while holding him firm. Lips that touched him in places no one ever had before. Dirty words whispered possessively in his ear. Words that would haunt his dream, both sleeping and awake.

Words that now sounded softly in his ear.

Stiles twitched as his mind came crashing back to reality. The softness was gone. His bed was gone. His room was gone. He was tied up and helpless. Pain flooded his senses. It was dark and it was cold and it smelled like blood and burnt flesh.

And Derek was gone.

Stiles would have cried if he had anymore tears left.

"That's a good boy, come back to me now little one." A voice breathed into his ear as something soft brushed against his face.

But…what…? Who? Stiles's eyes fluttered as he tried to open them, but they had swollen shut long ago. His drug addled mine worked instead on trying to make his other senses stronger.

The soft thing brushed against his face again, this time cupping his cheeks. Hands, that's what they were. He could feel the thumbs brushing the blood out from under his right eye. Stiles groaned softly and turned into the hand on his cheek. Whoever this hand belonged to, Stiles didn't care. They were soft and warm and caressing him like one would caress a lover. Like Derek would caress him.

Someone chuckled. A warm pair of lips pressed against his forehead. "Shhh," the soft voice cooed again, "you'll be alright."

Stiles tried to pull his head up, but it felt like lead and everything hurt. The person caressing him seemed to understand what he was trying to do because the hands on his cheeks tightened slightly in order to lift it up for him. He whimpered at the movement.

"It's alright little one." Lips were on his this time in a soft comforting kiss.

Stiles whimpered again as the other hit the split in his lip. Tilting his back slightly so that it rested on the pole behind him, "Who's there?" his voice came out horse and scratchy.

_It can't be Derek. It can't be Derek. Oh please God, let it be Derek._

"Who do you want it to be?"

Stiles felt and emptiness settle over his heart. _Not Derek._ He took a shuddering breath and tears began to leak out of the corners of his swollen eyes.

It was too much.

Something warm and wet trailed up his cheek, following the path his tears had drawn, causing a stinging in the open cuts. "Don't cry little one, I hate it when my toys cry." Stiles shivered at the purely predatory tone in Drew's voice seemed to take on. _Not Derek at all._ Arms circled around him held him close as the supporting weight of the ropes suddenly disappeared and he fell forward. Pain exploded in every part of Stiles. He couldn't hold back the cry of pain. It was like reliving the past, however many, hours in stunning high def clarity. Colors exploded behind his eyes and a rushing sound filled his ears. For one horrible second Stiles was sure he was about to throw up. He knew his father would never approve, but he very nearly wished Gerard had given him more drugs. They had at least helped a little.

Instead, he was so blinded by pain that he wasn't even aware that he was being picked up and carried over to a mattress on the floor.

Drew placed the broken child carefully on the mattress, ignoring the way the pale body twitched and cried in agony. It didn't matter now. He had a job to do so there was no time to fantasize about what could have been. The boy was ruined now and there was no taking that back. That didn't mean that he wasn't disappointed as hell though. Oh well, at least he could have a little fun. Drew smiled to himself as he pulled the hunting knife out of his back pocket and carefully began to cut away at the bloody clothes. He whistled.

"You are more beautiful than I thought. It's a shame that the old man got to you first." He commented appreciatively. Stiles didn't say anything. "You know, the old man thinks that I'm out with the others, hunting for your lousy pack."

That was a down right lie. Gerard knew exactly where he was. Knew exactly what he was about to _do_. But that was all a part of the plan.

In Drew's experience, everybody had a breaking point; all it took was the right conditions. Like the promise of freedom. The life of someone else. Being pushed to far by pain.

Or the promise to keep them away from another who would cause them more pain.

Drew smiled wider. Positioning himself so that he was straddled over the boy Drew allowed himself a moment to relish in the power he held over his helpless victim. Then he got to work.

Stiles swallowed reflexively. He could feel him. He could fucking _feel_ him. The pervert might not have been touching him, but Stiles could feel him. Like a big black mass of dark energy, hovering over his body, waiting to strike.

The sixteen year old felt his body shiver, and it wasn't all from the cold. He jumped viciously when hands were placed on his sides groaning at the pain it caused.

They were not the same. Those hands. These were hard and cold and sought out every cut and bruise on his body. Derek's were warm and soft and careful to avoid such places. He had always hated to see Stiles in pain.

The lips were wrong as well. Chapped and broken, they left, not nerve igniting kisses along his stomach, but hot, slimy saliva that stung and burned as it made its way into the open wounds.

Stiles didn't want this man. Stiles wanted Derek.

He wanted his Sourwolf.

He wanted his lover and friend. His champion and protector. His heart and his soul.

He tried to picture Derek's face. Those beautiful eyes that changed from green to blue depending on the light. Those soft, raven black locks that Stiles loved to bury his hands in. That tattoo that Derek would trace on Stiles stomach while the teen pretended to sleep.

He tried to find Derek's warmth, but with every stroke of _that man's_ hand upon his body, Derek's seemed to disappear. With every kiss the scratch of Derek's stubble seemed to be whipped away. With every grunt and groan, Derek's possessively loving growls seemed to be swallowed up.

Derek was gone.

Something inside of Stiles cracked.

The hands, which had been steadily moving up and down his thighs, moved to his knees and started pulling them apart.

Stiles wanted to yell, to scream and cry and beg the man on top of him to stop. He wanted to rip out that blonde hair and shove his thumb through the bastard's eye like his mother had taught him to do long ago.

But he couldn't move. He was in too much pain. Not to mention his hands were still tied behind his back. And he was higher than hell.

All he could do was whisper. "Please, please don't." in a voice so dry and crack it would have put the Sahara to shame.

Hot breath suddenly wafted past his ear, "Who would you like me to be Stiles?"

The teen didn't answer.

Drew slid between the boy's legs, an annoyed look on his face. This was not what he wanted. The boy was supposed to be crying, screaming for mercy and asking God to save him or some stupid crap like that. He was not supposed to be just lying there placed as fuck. Where was the fun in that?

Drew snarled under his breath, cursing the old man to the darkest layer of hell. He had waited, for five long ass goddamn years, to be able to break something again. To be able to prove his superiority over another being. To turn them into nothing more than shells of their former selves. It was the only reason he had joined these hunter freaks in the first place.

Gerard had promised him a new toy.

But instead of the lively little spitfire that he had literally had to _work_ to get in here, that he had been _promised_, Drew was left with a broken angel. And Drew was not happy. He couldn't even pretend with this one. All his gears had already been stripped from him. His wings were crocked and broken, his voice box missing its movements, his halo smashed and splintered. What was once a beautiful angle was now nothing more than a dirty piece of broken trash. No one in their right mind would want to play with it now.

And no one ever would.

"Such a shame," He tutted, "I was so looking forward to playing with you, but it looks like you're all used up."

Stiles's thighs twitched.

Drew sighed in frustration, "I guess there is no point in keeping you now. But that doesn't mean I am just going to let you go." He added when Stiles relaxed a little. "The question now is; what to do with you?"

He might have sounded quizzical, but Drew's voice took on a devious quality.

"Why don't we just see what's in my bag."

The bag Drew was talking about was his treasured bag of "toys" that he took with him on all his playmates. In it was exactly what he needed to deal with the boy. He moved himself so that he was out from between the boy's legs. Grabbing his bag and flicking it open Drew quickly gather up his supplies.

"Now then, little one, let's get you dressed up. After all, you are going to see your precious Alpha."

Stiles's voice quivered, "What…what are you…?"

There was a loud ripping sound. All at once a hand gripped Stiles's cheek and wrenched his jaw open. He cried out in pain as fingers bruised his already abused face. For the second that night he nearly chocked as a cloth was shoved violently into his mouth. When the fingers had finished shoving the cloth in his jaw was shoved shut. Tape was then slapped over his lips.

"That's a good little toy, nice and quiet." Drew placed a kiss over the bound lips. "I wonder what that filthy werewolf will think when I drop a pretty little dish such as yourself right in his lap."

Stiles swallowed as best he could with the gag in his mouth. He felt Drew grab his ankles and pull them together.

He really couldn't find a good way for this to end.

Don't read that wrong; he really, _really_ didn't want to be raped. But now Derek was in danger. There was no way the alpha wouldn't try to get to the injured boy if he smelled his blood.

He was going to walk straight into a trap where Stiles was the bait. And there was nothing the teen could do about it.

Yup, the world really did hate him.


End file.
